


Architecture 101 For Absolute Fools, Like You, You Painfully Ignorant Person. I Bet You Couldn’t Even Make A Gingerbread House. Let Me Help You.

by gracicah



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Educational, Gen, Humiliation, Podfic, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracicah/pseuds/gracicah
Summary: “Who is this author? Why is he so angry about ninety-degree angles? I feel personally attacked. It’s mean. Just so mean.”Summary quote, title, and story inspiration from a_slight_sweet_fiction's Architectural Erotica.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Architecture 101 For Absolute Fools, Like You, You Painfully Ignorant Person. I Bet You Couldn’t Even Make A Gingerbread House. Let Me Help You.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Architectural Erotica](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530955) by [a_slight_sweet_fiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_slight_sweet_fiction/pseuds/a_slight_sweet_fiction). 



> This is a fanfic of another fanfic in the Welcome to Night Vale fandom. I have tagged it under that fandom because of its origin, but it does not contain any characters from or explicit references to WTNV. The section which begins below the Chapter 1 heading and ends above the Section A heading is taken directly from Architectural Erotica, which, by the way, I highly recommend you read because it is adorable and hilarious.
> 
> If you would like to read this work with your ears instead of (or in addition to) your eyes, the podfic links are at the bottom of the page.

**Prologue**

If you have already read other books in this series and know what you are in for, there is no need for you to trouble yourself with this prologue. Skip to Chapter 1 and enjoy!

If, however, you picked up this book wondering just what is going on within its pages, intrigued but perhaps a little scared to find out, it is you that I wish to address.

Did you come here looking for a beginner's guide to architecture? Then, while you will not be disappointed on that score – it does indeed contain plenty of useful information on the subject – you may find you got more than you bargained for. Or did the hurtful, insulting title catch your eye? There, again, you will not be disappointed. There's plenty more where that came from.

This book, like the others in the series, was written with the dual intent to educate the reader on a variety of interesting topics – and to belittle the hell out of them for needing to educate themselves in the first place. Not, it must be noted, in a genuinely disparaging way. Far be it from me to look down on anyone for trying to better themselves. Rather, this is the sort of belittlement that would not be out of place in certain types of negotiated fantasy role-play.

Given the format of this particular scenario, I'm afraid the best I can give you for negotiation is the following disclaimer: This book is intended to be fun for its reader. I didn't write it to put anybody down. If you feel personally attacked by this book, all you have to do is put it down. Hell, buy it and ritually burn it for all I care! Your safe word for this scene is to simply stop reading. If you need reassurance that you're not dumb, that your perceived or actual intelligence does not dictate your value as a human being, that people are not secretly saying and thinking all the awful things about you that I will soon tell you they are, here is that reassurance. You are a good person. You are loved. This book is just a book and it doesn't get to tell you how to live your life, nor does anybody who talks like I do within its pages.

If all that didn't scare you off, I invite you to turn the page and embark on a journey of frustration, indignation, and – of course – education!

– Mandell

**Chapter 1: Basics**

_Hello_.

 _You’re here because you don’t know anything about architecture. I’m here because I want to help you, even though you really should know more about this subject already. You use buildings every day, don’t you? Maybe if you’d been a little more observant, a lot of this would already be obvious to you. I can’t believe I’ll have to spell these things out to you, and in a_ _**book,** _ _no less._

 _This will all be simple_ . _Mind-numbingly simple. Oh, but you don’t already understand it. What else don’t you understand, if even this is hard for you?_

_Your life must be very difficult, for you to be so ignorant of all that is._

_Don’t you worry, my sweet fool._ _I will break architecture down into simple pieces for you, until even you, who stares into the great happening of all things and sees only a fraction of a fraction, will understand the basic aspects of it._ _I will make the complex simple, and the simple even simpler. I will reduce these ideas to their lowest common denominator. I will tell you of science, and mathematics, and shape, and design. But for you to learn what you must, you must heed each and every one of my words. Are you willing to do that?_

**Section A: What is Architecture?**

All right, you poor uneducated creature, let me begin by telling you what architecture is. It's in the title of the book, which surely you must have looked at and thought you knew what it meant, but then, if you _really_ knew anything about it at all, we wouldn't be here, would we?

Architecture is the art of designing and building structures. Architecture is also the name we give the structures that have been designed and built.

Oh no, I've confused you already, I see. Don't worry your little head about it. I'll make it even easier for you: Architecture is the big word smart people use when they are talking about buildings.

Buildings – oh, dear. Do you know what a building is?

Let's start here. Where did you get this book? Where were you when you grasped it in your unwashed hands, probably holding it upside down at first, and squinted at its pages in the vain hope that those little inky squiggles would take you by the hand and lead you painlessly to understanding? Perhaps you went into a bookstore and bought it, or more likely some infinitely patient soul bought it for you out of (you hope) generosity or (you suspect) a burning desire to be rid of your nagging presence. Or if you didn't buy it, perhaps you found it in a library. Aha! There you are. A library, you see, is a kind of building, and so is a bookstore.

Look, I'll put this part in bold, because I can tell you won't remember it if I don't:

**A building is a usually roofed and walled structure built for permanent use.**

That's from the Merriam-Webster dictionary. A dictionary, in case you didn't know, is a big book full of words, some of which you know, the vast majority of which have slipped unnoticed through your sieve-like mind. But I digress.

So. Building. Walls. Roof. Supposed to be there for a long time and not collapse on your thick skull the moment you've nailed the last couple of planks together. Got it?

God, I hope so, because I'm not sure I could dumb it down any more if I tried. Moving on, then.

**Section B: Common Parts of Buildings**

Before you start reading this section, ask yourself: Do I understand what a building is? If you've forgotten, remember that the definition is in bold on the previous page.

You know what, I'll just tell you again. **A building is something with walls and a roof, and it's meant to stay standing for a very long time.** Think of how long you can stand up without feeling tired. Think of the ache in your knees, your back, your feet. Think of the sweet relief of bending all your aching joints and curling in on yourself at the end of the day, a crackling ball of tired bone and sinew.

A building doesn't have the luxury of bending and buckling willy-nilly whenever it feels a bit tired, you lazy lout. Even the most poorly-constructed edifice you can imagine has a better chance of making it eight hours without toppling over than you do. The lowest and most rickety of buildings stands taller, stronger, and more enduring than you could ever dream of doing yourself. You are a weaker and more pathetic creature than even a termite-infested garden shed.

 _How can I be more like a building?_ I imagine you are asking in your voice that creaks like an unoiled door hinge. Ignoring the cacophony of your ignorant words, I reply through gritted teeth: _You can't_. People are not buildings. Architecture is not the art of creating humans. I thought this much was already clear. All you can do is wish the universe had been kinder and made you an arch or a flying buttress instead, and curse its spite for having made you to be a worthless mass of flesh and pointless questions.

But if you insist on continuing your frivolous fantasy of one day becoming a building, I suppose all I can do is make sure you know what buildings are made up of.

Walls. Roof. Remember? But alas, most buildings do not end with walls and a roof. Most buildings have other features. Let us examine these together. Don't worry, my dear challenged reader. I'll walk you through it nice and slow.

Let's assume you are in a building right now. There are walls around you and a roof over your head. Can you see the walls? Can you touch them? Don't they feel nice? And how about that ceiling?

Oh, dear, I said ceiling instead of roof and now you're confused. It's all right. I'll explain. A ceiling is what we call the _overhead inside lining of a room_. That's from the dictionary again, and what it means is that the ceiling is the thing over your head that you can see when you're inside. The roof is the thing over your head that you have to go outside to see.

There! Now you know what a ceiling is, and that most buildings have those too. There's another thing most buildings have, and you are probably touching it right now without even thinking about it. What could it be? What are you touching right now?

Oh, dear. I know what you're thinking, and that is not what I'm talking about. Here's a hint: you're probably not touching it with your hands, but with another part of your body.

Where, dear reader, are your feet?

Get up and go to the other side of the room. Now where are they? What are they touching? It's not grass or dirt, is it? It's something else. Maybe it's cool and hard. Maybe you hit your head on it as a child and that's why you are the way that you are. Or maybe it's soft and covered in carpeting, and we will have to search for another explanation for why you are like this. Take off your shoes and socks. Wiggle your toes around on it. Do you like that?

What your obedient toes are grasping and caressing, reader, is called a floor. Most buildings have them. Now you know another thing that most buildings have. Floor, ceiling, walls, and roof. Do you think you can handle a few more?

Perhaps you should take a break and come back to this when you're ready. I imagine you're a bit distracted wiggling your toes in the carpet or petting the wall.

**Section C: More Common Building Parts**

Welcome back, you who know of floors and ceilings and walls and roofs. That's four whole things. Are you proud of yourself? Perhaps this is more knowledge than you are used to retaining in that most minuscule of edifices, your nigh impenetrable skull. Perhaps you think you know everything there is to know about architecture. Is that what you think? Why don't you try to read a regular architecture book and tell me how you do?

Oh, don't fret. It's not your fault. Here, let me teach you some more words for parts of buildings. This next one has to do with how people get into and out of buildings. How did you get into the place where you are now? Did you have to break something to do it? Or did you use something that seemed to have been made just for you to open it and close it easily, carelessly, over and over, day after day, without so much as a pause to wonder why or how it got there?

Think about that thing that you moved aside to get into this space. It was probably flat, wasn't it, and taller than you? It had something sticking out of it for you to touch with your dirty hands, never pausing to consider how many other people's hands have groped for it blindly, rattled it frantically, pulled and pushed and twisted it this way and that, leaving the residue of everything they touched behind to mingle with the sticky prints of your own uncaring fingers. Do you think any of those people would let their hands brush against yours, even accidentally, even for a second, if they knew that you needed a _beginner's guide_ to _architecture_?

That thing, by the way, that is the closest you will ever come to contact with a willing human being in your life, is called a door.

The door itself is that big flat thing that opens and closes, and the bit that stuck out and that you probably contracted some sort of disease from is called a doorknob. Some doors have knobs, while others have handles or bars. I bet you've run into one of those before – maybe even literally, if it was a glass door. You know, they're the kind that are clearly labeled “Push” on one side and “Pull” on the other, but you never seem to understand the labels and you end up pushing fruitlessly on a smooth metal handle until someone takes pity on you and pulls the door open with a wordless, pained smile and gestures for you to carry on with what they're sure must be a very difficult day.

That empty space where the door used to be before that kind soul finally opened it for you, the space you walk through which seems always to magically erase your memory of whatever you had just been about to do, is called... a doorway.

What did you think I was going to say it was? A wall? Is that what you think a wall looks like? Or did you just want it to be a wall because you knew buildings had those and you didn't know about this new doorway thing? Are you even trying to learn, you useless dullard, or are you just waiting for me to pull you through another doorway to the place to which everyone else has already found their way, that promised land of Knowing About Architecture?

Well, looking on the bright side, at least you know you can get out of this room more or less by yourself. How you managed before remains a mystery. But what if you want to stay inside and still know what is going on outside? Can you do that in a building? Have you ever tried?

I am talking about windows, you dolt, windows. Maybe you've seen one. It would be flat, made of glass – no, not one of those doors that so confound you, do try to keep up – and they are not there to be traversed by hapless wanderers such as yourself, reader. They are there to let in light and allow people to see into and out of the building. I wouldn't be surprised to learn you had gazed idly out of several of them over the course of your scholastic career, this of course assuming that you went to school at all. All that window-gazing and you never bothered to find out what one was. You really are something else, aren't you?

Windows and doors, ceilings and floors, and of course the fundamental walls and roofs – that will have to be enough for you to be getting on with. These are the parts of buildings that you are most likely to encounter, anyway, and architecture is more than the sum of its parts. I haven't even begun to tell you what makes architecture different from – and superior to – mere construction.

**Section D: The Beauty of Architecture**

Architecture, as you would remember if you were at all capable of retaining information, is the art of designing and building structures. The important word in that sentence is _art_. Anyone – present company excluded – can nail some planks together and build a house, and the house will probably do its job well enough, but if it's done without any thought put into it, it's not architecture. To put it simply: Architecture is how buildings become not only useful, but beautiful.

I wonder if you know what beauty is, you sad, benighted creature. I'd like to think you have an inkling. Perhaps that's what drew you to this book. Perhaps you opened this book and strained what functioning brain cells you have managed to cultivate because something struck you about the imposing columns and friezes of a government building or the open, airy vestibule of your favorite shopping mall. Or perhaps you're more the sort to stand before the Taj Mahal itself and boggle at it in mindless awe, a line of drool escaping your slack-jawed mouth, only to traipse away and forget what it looked like mere hours later.

This architectural idea of buildings and structures being beautiful as well as useful can be summarized in the following key phrase: **Form Follows Function**. You like that phrase, don't you? It's short, it's alliterative, and you have no idea what it means but it makes you sound like you do.

Let me break it down into small, digestible chunks of meaning for you.

**Form:** Form is the shape, color, material, or design of something. A door can be made of wood, glass, or metal, for example, and it can be plain or ornate.

**Function:** Function is what something does; its job; its reason for being part of the structure in the first place. A door's function is to open and close.

This is why we say form _follows_ function: There are a variety of shapes, colors, materials, and designs a door can have, but as long as it does its job of opening and closing, it can still be included in a good building design. But the most beautiful door-shaped creation in the world, if it does not open and close, should not be included in a building design.

I sense that this is still too high a concept for you. I think I know why, too. It's because you are both useless and ugly. How can form and function have meaning for someone who has neither? But even as ugly and useless as you are, my poor undeserving reader, surely you can see that there are things around you that _do_ have a use, that _do_ have a value, that _do_ have a place in this world.

Do you envy them?

Do you envy the pomp and splendor of a mahogany banister in a stately mansion, or the flashy showmanship of a stained glass window? Do you long for the stark sturdiness of a stone foundation, the incredible lightness of paper sliding doors and tatami mats, the romance of a baroque balcony over an ancient cobbled city street? Do you ache for soaring arches and towering pillars? Do you wish that you, too, were beautiful and important and beloved enough for an entire civilization to preserve you long after you would otherwise have fallen to ruin?

That, reader, _that_ is what I am trying vainly to explain to you. The beauty you will tragically never exemplify – you can see it, can't you? And so much of the beauty of architecture stems directly from its purpose. Its _form_ – its graceful, voluptuous, radiant form – _follows_ naturally from its _function_.

But all this is lost on you, I fear. You stare vacantly at the page, yearning to understand but loath to contemplate the idea of opening a dictionary. Fear not, my poor helpless reader. In Chapter 2, I will endeavor to be your dictionary of architectural terms, for all the good it's likely to do you.

\---

The podfic of this work is available in MP3 format at the following sites:

[Google Drive](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1BBmgqJHMkSXb7avKm0lTWzgB95aEZkhv/view?usp=sharing)

[Internet Archive](https://archive.org/details/architecture101)


End file.
